


hate to say i told you so

by bobbydrake



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Aunt May and Uncle Ben are the best, Gen, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trans Peter Parker, trans! Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11505924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbydrake/pseuds/bobbydrake
Summary: "So your body's changing. Believe me, I know how that feels."In that moment, Peter realized that Captain America could not be more wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are really just some one-shots inspired by the headcanon that Peter Parker is trans. If you have any requests send them to me!

The first time he tells anyone about how he feels- how he  _ really _ feels- Peter Parker is twelve years old.

He distinctly remembers planning what he was going to say at school the entire day, running the verbose speech through his mind over and over again. He would be by himself for a few hours before either of his guardians returned, which thankfully gave him enough time to mentally prepare himself for what was to follow. He was home alone most days after school, one of the many privileges of being what was deemed a ‘latchkey kid’ by Uncle Ben. He felt pride in being trusted to be by himself in the apartment for a few hours until his aunt and uncle returned from their respective workplaces, and he relished the fact that he could set the TV at whatever volume he wanted when he worked on his homework. 

Despite the joy he usually found in being by himself after school, he discovered after forty minutes of sitting in agonizing silence that if he waited the usual amount of time for both Aunt May and Uncle Ben to return, he would never be able to tell them. The flame of anticipation awaiting his reveal would flicker as the hours passed and be reduced to nothing but a pitiful spark by dinnertime.

_ It’s now or never _ he told himself with a grimace as he reached for the phone with shaking fingers. It took him four tries to dial May’s number, knowing that she was easier to reach at work than Ben. 

“Hello?”

As soon as he heard her voice on the other end, he contemplated hanging up the phone and throwing it across the room; however, instead he merely took a deep breath and continued, ignoring the warning in the back of his head that was telling him what a stupid mistake he was making.

“Aunt May,” he began, hating how his voice quivered with fear.  _ Man up!  _ he told himself silently, hoping that he would take the message. “I have somethin’ to tell you.” His voice trailed off with uncertainty and he squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his lip so fiercely he was afraid it would split. 

“What is it, kiddo?” She questioned, concern evident in her tone. She was never the type to become short with him when he called her at her desk, always there to help him through a crisis if he needed it. There is a vivid memory of the time some careless kid accidentally spilled a few drops of nitric acid on his leg in a sixth grade science lab and he called her from the office, in tears because his teacher had blamed him for the incident and he wasn’t allowed back in the lab for the remainder of the semester. 

“Um, d-do you know what, um, it means when like, a girl wants to be… a boy?” He questioned, cringing at the way he phrased it. His mind frantically tried to salvage the remainder of his eloquent speech from earlier that day, but to no avail. He was reduced to a stuttering mess with no purpose. 

“Yeah, honey, I do,” Aunt May chuckled lightheartedly, the sound of a copy machine whirring in the background. “It’s called transgender. Why? Do you have to learn about it in that Sex Ed class at school?” She probed and Peter could feel his face turn the color of a ripe tomato. Great, not like this conversation could get any  _ more _ awkward. 

“Um, n-no. My point is- well, what I’m trying to say… um, I guess what-” He pushed a hand through his cropped hair, wishing he would have just texted his Aunt with a simple “Hey! I’m a boy!” instead of going through the trials of actually physically speaking the dreaded words. 

“Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me.” His Aunt comforted, her voice soothing as always. He was so afraid to disappoint or confuse her. Maybe that was the reason why he was petrified, unable to breathe as he was frozen in his spot on the couch. Maybe that was why he was terrified to reveal to her what felt like a huge secret that he was forced to keep in order to protect this alter ego he had created for himself. Maybe he was just overreacting. 

But, maybe he wasn’t. 

As if a sudden force had propelled him forward, he let the words fall freely from his lips.

“I’m a boy. I mean, I’m what you said earlier. Transgendered.” He explained in a barely audible whisper. He barely noticed the tears begin to race down his cheeks, his vision clouded as he tried to focus on his surroundings. He wrapped his free arm around his middle to provide some false sense of comfort as if that would help him cope with the hesitant silence on the other line. 

The silence didn’t occupy the conversation for long, but whether that was a relief or not, Peter couldn’t tell.

“Oh, baby.” Aunt May sighed gently and it took Peter a moment to realize that he had begun to sob. He couldn’t stomach hearing himself, so miserable and pitiful as he tried to form words, but his tears wouldn’t let him. His throat was raw as he choked on his saliva and the salty tears running into his mouth, unable to hear Aunt May’s softly murmured platitudes from over the phone. “It’s going to be okay, baby. Me and your Uncle Ben, we love you no matter what, okay?” She shushed in a blatant attempt to calm him down, to coax him back to a reality he chose not to face. “We love you.” She repeated and Peter nodded, despite the fact that she couldn’t see him. 

After a few minutes, he was able to whisper a pithy goodbye to his Aunt before hanging up, wiping the half dried tears and snot from his face.  _ How pathetic _ he sighed, curling up on the couch and resting his tousled hair on one of the uncomfortable throw pillows. 

* * *

 

Peter awoke, squinting in the dim lighting to make out where he was.

It took him a few moments to realize that he was still asleep on the couch. A trail of drool ran down his chin and the afghan that typically rested on the back of the couch had been thrown over his sleeping form. He noted that at some point, his shoes had been removed, and he ran a hand through his hair, blinking wearily. 

Just as he was about to stand and make his way into the kitchen for a much-needed drink of water, he could hear the hushed voices of his Aunt and Uncle in the room adjacent to the living area. The door was left open a crack, most likely on accident, a pool of light spilled out of the doorway. He strained his ears, somehow  _ knowing _ that their conversation topic for the evening would be his huge revelation.

“I mean, what are we going to do when it comes time for her, I mean  _ him _ , to get these testosterone shots? The insurance alone isn’t going to cover it an-” 

“May, we’ll get it figured out,” Uncle Ben’s ever-soothing voice cut into his Aunt’s panicking and Peter physically relaxed, almost as if his Uncle was comforting him as well. “Whatever happens, happens. We’ll save up, or I’ll pick up a few odd jobs. We just have to be there for him.” Ben diffused, sounding sure of his promises. He heard his Aunt sigh in response. 

“I-I know. I just, I don’t want life to be hard for her,” she elaborated. “Crap, him.” She corrected herself after a moment’s reflection. Peter wasn’t going to lie, hearing his aunt and uncle use his preferred pronouns set him at ease. Just knowing they were trying was enough.

“It’s alright,” Ben chuckled. “I’m still getting used to it as well.”

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a brief moment before May spoke up again.

“I just want him to be alright.” She pointed out, her voice heavy with the weight of the world. 

“He will be,” Ben comforted. “He’s got us.” 


	2. Chapter 2

The moment Peter realizes that the bite from the spider three days prior is the main causation of all these changes, he only half wills it to somehow transform his body into the perfect masculine image.

He knows he sounds insane, which is why he tries to force the thoughts from his mind whenever they come up. What kind of fourteen-year-old kid in their right mind would actually trade _superpowers_ just to look masculine?

Immediately upon asking himself the question, he knows that he would get rid of any and all powers in a heartbeat just to be able to look at his body in the mirror. He would gladly resign from any possible future this superhero gig could bring him just to be able to go to the beach without a shirt on. He wouldn’t even miss the thrill he got from swinging around the city by the ends of his homemade “webs” and punching criminals in the face.

Okay, he would miss that part a little bit.

He gets to work designing a makeshift super-suit as soon as possible. It’s relatively simple, he figures, as he salvages any red and blue garments from the Goodwill donation bag that Uncle Ben keeps promising May he’ll take down there as soon as he gets the opportunity. He scores one of Aunt May’s old baby blue tracksuits, and as ugly as it may be, it just might work for the plan he has constructed in his mind.

The suit itself consists of red knee-high socks, a red sleeveless hoodie, May’s tracksuit, and a mask formed from the remains of one of Aunt May’s discarded sundresses and a pair of black swimming goggles. The goggles are added in after the night he takes life a little too fast and smacks face-first into a brick wall, almost breaking his nose in the process. With all the color, light, and noise pollution that Queens provides, Peter figures he needs some sort of equilibrium to keep him in check.

The tracksuit is baggy already, but he’s eternally grateful to the inventors of the sleeveless hoodie that it’s loose enough to hide any trace of the fact that he has breasts. He’s not even exactly sure you can call them that, considering the fact that his flat-chest never gave the impression that he was...developing in that way, but to him, they’re there and they shouldn’t be. In the shower, his eyes remain fixated on the ceiling or the cold spray above him, never glancing down in order to avoid that familiar sinking in the pit of his stomach that reminds him just how far away from his goal he is.

The city nicknames his alter ego the “Spider-Man” and he couldn’t be more ecstatic. Man, it’s part of his name. The entire city recognizes him, Peter Parker, as a _man_.

Despite his soaring alter ego, Peter Parker is most definitely not recognized as a man in his day-to-day life. Throughout freshman year at Midtown, it is painfully clear from the first day when his Literature Studies teacher refers to him as his birth-name that he is so far from being seen as even semi masculine. His voice deepens as the hormone treatments continue, but it doesn’t help that Flash Thompson only refers to him by his birth-name or with a rather cruel nickname stemming from his lack of proper genitalia.

“It’s not even clever,” Ned points out as he drags out the Tie Fighter instructions buried underneath a pile of discarded math worksheets and returned tests with a perfect score scribbled across the top in bright red ink. It’s nearing the end of the third day of winter vacation, one that both Peter and Ned spent entirely inside watching Star Trek and working on some of their co-op sets. “It’s like, considering how smart he is in class, you think he’d be able to come up with a good insult for you.” Ned ribs, and although Peter is well aware that his friend is only joking, he can’t ignore the ache he feels when he realizes that maybe it’s what he deserves somehow. Maybe Flash is right in making fun of a _freak_ like him. He scoffs to himself, almost cynically, as he leans against the worn couch in Ned’s cramped room.

“Crap, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Ned backtracks quickly, a cringe crossing over his face once he realizes the damage he’s inflicted. Peter attempts to brush it off, wanting to move on in the conversation, but Ned persists. “I’m sorry, bro. He’s an asshole, and I’m pretty sure he cheated on the AP Environmental test anyway.” Ned offers and Peter gives a minimal smirk, hoping that he’ll drop the topic. As much as he knows he can confide in Ned, there are just certain aspects of his life that he wants to keep to himself.

Well, y’know, _aside_ from the whole Spider-Man debacle.

“Who do you think is cuter? Liz or Cindy?” Peter blurts out absentmindedly as he pulls one of the hundreds of grey bricks from Ned’s collection and fastens it on to the center of another piece. This line of conversation isn’t uncommon for them and Peter relishes in how easy it is to slip back into this persona he’s created for himself. There are topics that Peter only brings up when he’s feeling particularly dysphoric, such as cute girls at school or Star Wars debates. In a way, a conversation where he doesn’t have to think too hard about every possible outcome is calming in itself and it gives him a break from thinking of Flash’s poorly crafted insults.

       When they were kids, prior to Peter revealing that he felt like he was a boy in the seventh grade, the two could go on for hours about who would win in a fight to the death or how _awesome_ it would be if they had the money to build their own computer. Their conversations were light-hearted and they shared a definite rapport from day one of their friendship. Peter liked to think that this wasn’t going to change when he came out to his best friend only six days after he had explained to May and Ben that he wanted to be called Peter, but he knew that eventually, something in their dynamic would shift. Despite his dread, their relationship remained the same after the announcement, and within three minutes they were back on their previous topic of whether or not they could build a robot that could see color.

They were best friends. Science bros. Peter and Ned. Ned and-

“Peter! Would you like to stay for dinner?” he hears Ned’s mom yell through the bedroom door and he couldn’t help but crack a smile. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love the way that he had basically integrated himself into Ned’s family these last few years. Just as he was about to respond, he hears a siren blaring from outside the window and his eyes snap up, biting on the inside of his cheek. What was going on?

“Sorry, I should probably actually get going!” He calls back, not missing the way Ned’s face fell at his statement. He hated ditching his friend, but the sun was starting to set and he wanted to get a few hours of patrol in before Aunt May returns from her second job that evening. Not to mention the fact that the sirens were basically calling his name, willing him to get back out there. Ever since...the incident only two months ago, Peter has not only felt indebted to the city, but to Uncle Ben as well. It was almost as there was some gravitational pull willing him towards the action.

He slings his backpack over his shoulder, preparing to stand when realization strikes Ned’s face and the other boy gets to his feet, pulling a yellow shopping bag out from under his bed frantically.

“I almost forgot to tell you! I saw this at the store the other day and thought of you,” He shoves the bag towards a skeptical looking Peter, who reaches inside, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “Just take it out, dude. I promise it’s not like, a hard-boiled egg or snake skin or something.” Ned chuckles and Peter cracks a grin, pulling two half-squishy ovals wrapped in tissue paper from the bag.

“I never know with you, man,” Peter supplies, unwrapping one of the ovals to reveal-

“They’re shoulder pads!” Ned exclaims, unable to stifle the look of unadulterated excitement plastered on his face. Peter’s eyes light up in surprise and he turns the material over in his hands, unaware of the huge smile making its way onto his expression. “Well, shoulder pad inserts for your shirts and stuff. They’re small so they don’t look too 80’s either.” he continues and Peter looks up at his best friend, mouth agape.

“Ned, you didn’t have t-” he begins, but is cut off by the other boy almost instantly.

“Yes, I did. You’re my best friend and if this means that you’ll stop trying to force your shoulders up when you walk, then I don’t regret it,” he jokes and the grins on both of their faces grow. “Face it, you look ridiculous.” He points out and Peter nods, gripping the gift tightly in both of his hands.

“Well, if we’re on the topic I guess that means I’m gonna have to buy you a hat to hide your new haircut,” Peter quips and Ned scoffs in mock offense, reaching over to take the second insert that lay next to Peter’s feet away from him.

“Guess I’ll be taking this back then.” He sighs and they both burst into laughter. Peter feels as though some huge weight has been lifted from his chest as he just sat there, joking with his best friend. He wanted life to just be this easy all the time, to let it breeze through as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Seriously, thank you.” Peter confesses, not missing the way his voice cracks halfway through his sentence.

“No problem.” Ned replies, mimicking the voice crack almost perfectly, prompting them both to start laughing again.  

Peter realizes that he really couldn't ask for a better best friend, sometimes.

That night, Spider-Man soars through the city with a new addition to his homemade suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned is the best


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place pre Spiderman Homecoming but post Civil War  
> None of the chapters in this story will be in chronological order

Contrary to his initial belief, Spider-Man and Iron Man don’t work that closely together. In fact, Peter and Tony don’t work that closely either. 

At most, he figures they see each other roughly once a month when Tony calls him down to get the suit checked out and work out any bugs. He relishes these times, not missing the way that Mr. Stark asks  _ him _ for his opinion on whether or not the suit should possess an enhanced chestpiece or if he has any sketches for new attributes. The meetings are relatively brief, still, and Peter takes this to mean that there’s no extreme danger at hand waiting to destroy New York City, which is fine. Really, he’s glad that there’s virtually  _ nothing _ to do at times and he passes the time by trying to see if he can actually build an intricate spider web or how long he can hang upside down like a bat. As glad as he is that crime rates are down lately, he can’t help but feel a tad obsolete in the world. What’s a superhero supposed to do without any bad guys to stop?

Because of his adopted philosophy that as long as Mr. Stark is ignoring his messages there’s no immediate threats posed, any call he gets from either Happy or Tony is instantly elevated to an eleven on the scale of importance. What if it’s a call to action and they need to join forces once again to stop Captain America and his robotic arm friend? What if Iron Man needs him to bring down an illegal arms dealer in Queens? What if the entirety of New York City is literally on  _ fire _ ?

Okay, he admits that the last one is a lot less likely than the other two. 

He answers his phone in the school bathroom once he looks down and realizes that Happy is calling him. He can feel his heart thudding in his chest and he can’t ignore the feeling of giddiness invading his body. This is it, he figures, Spider-Man’s call to action. He hasn’t heard from either of them in literal months since the Berlin “retreat” and he’s desperate to help; so much so that he even crossed over to Brooklyn a week prior in search of any old ladies who needed directions to the G train. 

In all honesty, he needs this more than anyone knows. It’s been a shit week, and not just because crime is down and he barely has to go on patrol each night. First, he misses a T shot while out on patrol. While this didn’t physically affect his body in any noticeable way, he’s irritable and lethargic for the next few days, snapping even at May when she questions him about where he got the cut on his lower lip. After that, he’s invited to Liz’s start of the year pool party. Although she didn’t blatantly walk up to him and hand him an invite, she just mentions the party the day of during a decathlon meeting and gives each member an open invitation. He’s excited for roughly fifteen minutes before realizing there’s no way that he’s going to show his face at a pool party where every other guy there is going to have their shirt off and he’s going to have to mope in the corner with his lame swim shirt and barely worn trunks. That morning, he tells Liz with a resigned sigh that he won’t be able to make it but he hopes it’ll be fun. She shoots him a prizewinning smile in return, only making him feel worse. In addition to all of this, he’s reverted back to using an ace bandage during the day when a substitute misgenders him while he’s using a binder. He knows that it’s dangerous and could ruin his health in the long run, but he really couldn’t stand the knowing look on everyone’s faces the moment he’s addressed openly as “Miss Parker”. 

So far, the high point of his day has been realizing that Happy had called him for once and not the other way around.

“Hey, kid,” Happy greets, sounding anything but. “Boss told me to call you and tell you that we’re picking you up in twenty. Suit modifications, patrol reports, you know the drill.” Peter’s heart sinks as Happy explains the call. So much for a call to action. 

“Okay, I ha-” he begins to speak but is cut off by the harsh noise of the dial tone on the other end. He glances down at the clock on his phone with a sigh, remembering with a flicker of joy that school gets out in twenty minutes. It’s a waste that he’s not being summoned to take down some giant alien army, but at least Flash and the rest of the Sophomore grade will get to see him climbing into one of Tony Stark’s flashy sports cars right in front of Midtown High’s parking lot.

He can just picture the look on Flash’s face already.

* * *

He rubs at his eyes, glancing down at the sheet of quadratic equations before him. Peter’s homework is spread haphazardly across one of Tony’s work tables and he can feel exhaustion setting in, despite his protests to stay awake.

The afternoon proved to be rather enjoyable, even if there weren’t any aliens to fight. After receiving a look of pure jealousy from Flash and the majority of Midtown’s student body, Peter situates himself in the backseat of Mr. Stark’s Audi, grinning a mile wide as his mentor and hero greeted him. They went out to an early dinner at some fancy restaurant that Peter could barely pronounce the name of, chatting absentmindedly about school and what “trouble” Peter was finding himself in during his time as Queens’ newest red-and-blue vigilante. He’s surprised by how easy it is to just  _ talk _ to Mr. Stark and not having to keep up any appearances or wear the masquerade of Spider-Man. He’s just Peter, and he doesn’t need to worry about being anybody else.

Although Mr. Stark is well aware of Peter being trans, he doesn’t delve into the topic very often. He asks, but he doesn’t quite listen. He pays for Peter’s testosterone shots, but he doesn’t seem to care. In fact, Peter doubts that the infinite wisdom of Tony Stark includes an understanding of anything past the fact that he takes testosterone and he wears his hair short. He can’t tell if he prefers Tony’s withdrawn approach to the subject or he doesn’t, but he rarely brings any issues to the man’s attention. After the offer to pay for his T shots once he figures out that May hadn’t been able to gather enough money to refill the prescription that month, Peter always feels indebted to him. He doesn’t want to cause him any more trouble by complaining about his dysphoric days or how short he is compared to all the other guys his age. 

So, he keeps his mouth shut. Or, at least he tries to.

“Jesus, kid. It’s only 6:30. That bored already?” Tony questions jokingly as he notices Peter yawn for what is most likely the fourth time in a ten minute span. Peter glances up from his worksheet to meet Mr. Stark’s gaze, resting his chin in his hand. He absolutely detests his recent bout of lethargy and the fact that he can barely bring himself to stay up past ten the last few nights, but he supposes that’s his fault for being unobservant and missing a shot. 

“Nope, ‘s all good,” He mumbles sleepily, wanting to say more but not able to bring himself to do so. On any other day, he’d be a ball of unstoppable energy, loving the fact that he was invited into Mr. Stark’s  _ personal _ workshop and asking what he can do to help with the suit repairs. Today, however, he’s sedentary and particularly irritated by the fact that Tony chooses to let Black Sabbath drown out any other noise in the vicinity. Really? Does his music have to be  _ that _ loud?

“C’mere, I want to show you something,” Mr. Stark calls, turning back to his own workbench where he has one of Peter’s original web shooters in front of him. Although Peter is pretty sure he’s about to pass out right then and there, he stands anyway, unable to fight the urge to see what Tony has been tinkering with the last hour. He sits down adjacent to Mr. Stark and attempts to listen intently as the man launches into an explanation of how he’s essentially recalibrated the timing process, but his mind wanders and he feels his eyelids drooping as he stares down at the web shooter in Tony’s hands. It’s insane how badly he just wants to lie down and sleep, giving into his body’s demands. How great it would be to let his head fall into a pillow and jus-

“Peter!” His eyes snap open and he jerks up, efficiently startled. Holy crap, had he really just dozed off right in front of Mr. Stark? “Were you even paying attention?” the other man questioned, raising an eyebrow assumingly. He scans Peter’s face, most likely taking in the deep circles under his eyes and the way he keeps drifting off, unable to focus on anything. “Jesus, how late are you staying out every night?” he interrogates and although Peter knows he means well, he can’t help but feel a pang of anger rising in his chest. If Mr. Stark really cared he’d actually pick up his calls every once in awhile.

“What does it matter?” Peter shoots back, instantly regretting the words as they leave his mouth. He knows that it’s not his best idea to pick a fight with the man trying to guide him in all of this, but he just can’t help it. He feels much more defensive than he has in a long time.

“You’re right, my bad. I forgot that teenagers don’t need sleep to function anymore, you just run on coffee and snark now,” Mr. Stark remarks in his usual sarcastic fashion. Peter resists the urge to roll his eyes in that moment, knowing that it would only make him come off as more of a defiant teenager protesting against his father. “Is this attitude going to be a constant thing? Because I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that.” Tony continues, only adding to Peter’s boiling mood. Yeah, Tony Stark  _ dealing _ with something, that’s a good one. He wants to fight back, but he knows that doing so would only make him appear even more immature in the eyes of his hero. He settles for a different route.

“Fine, I’m sorry. Alright?” He responds belligerently, not missing Tony’s stricken expression as his sudden surrender. Peter rubs at his eyes once more as the silence and tension fill the space between them, making for one awkward buffer. He is just about to stand when he feels Mr. Stark’s hand on his shoulder, willing him down. He locks eyes with the other man, hoping he doesn’t look too pathetic.

“Look, obviously something’s up. You’re not usually like this and I  _ know _ that you don’t talk to your Aunt in that tone. What’s wrong with you lately?” He inquires and Peter is genuinely surprised at his approach. He’s yet to see the man so composed and mature in handling a personal issue. It’s almost odd in a way.

“I- I just, it’s just that,” He takes a deep breath in a poor attempt to retain some semblance of a calm and collected composure. Maybe if he comes across as fine, Mr. Stark will accept that he is and will drop this phony ‘interested in his problems’ act. “Nothing’s  _ wrong _ , I just haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.” He lies expertly, avoiding eye contact with the man. He manages a weak smile, hoping that it will cause him to appear more at ease with the whole situation.

“Okay, kid. If you want to lie down before we gotta take you home, that’s fine.” Tony pardons, turning back to the web shooter in order to end the conversation. Peter nods and stands, but he doesn’t get far. As soon as he tries to inhale, he feels the tightness around his chest increase, familiar sensation of a boa constrictor suffocating him. He gasps out in pain, wondering why all of a sudden he’s having difficulty breathing. Tony notices instantly and turns around in his swivel chair to face him, a genuinely concerned look plastered on his face. 

“I’m f-fine, I’m fine,” Peter assures, trying to ignore the soreness invading his body. He stands up straighter, wondering if that will ease the pain. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

“Yeah, and if you’re fine that makes me Batman. Take it off, Peter.” Tony demands and Peter sighs, hating how it pains him to do so. How is he going to worm his way out of this one?

“Take what off?” Peter questions, arching a brow as if to say: ‘what are you talking about? I didn’t do anything’

“I’m not kidding around, get it off or I’ll strangle you before it does,” Tony points out, most likely only half kidding. He knows that the man is joking about the strangling bit, but he figures that if he doesn’t comply soon, that joke might become a reality judging by the deadpan look on his mentor’s face. Although his mouth is a thin line and the wrinkles above his forehead indicate irritation, his dark eyes are swimming with worry and sympathy. 

Peter reaches into his shirt and undoes the bandage in a swift motion, letting the tan material drop the floor below him. Immediately, he feels the boa constrictor vanish and he can breathe properly again, cursing himself for putting it on that morning in the first place. To his credit, Peter doesn’t quite think clearly when he’s having one of his dysphoric episodes. His main concern tends to be whether or not he can pass as masculine enough with a shirt on, and thanks to that substitute teacher the other day, he’s been self conscious as hell. 

“Jesus, kid. Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re a smart guy, you know better than this by now. Believe it or not, I do research this stuff and I know what doing  _ that _ kind of thing can do to you. Permanent rib damage, misshapen spines, do you really want that to happen to you?” Tony launches into one of his ever-famous mini lectures and Peter attempts to blink the hot tears forming in his eyes back, but a few break loose and roll down his cheeks similarly to rain on a windshield. He rubs at his undoubtedly red nose and watches Tony with glassy eyes, sniffling quietly. His idol’s face softens when he notices Peter trying harder than ever to hold back the cascade of tears that are just begging to break free and let loose all the pain and dysphoria he’s been experiencing these past few days. “C’mere, kiddo, it’s alright.” He murmurs, but Peter isn’t going to embrace him, not with his chest like  _ that. _ Not exposed under his shirt, showing the world how he truly is being his masquerade of masculinity. Not with one of the parts he hates about himself the most extremely evident under his shirt. 

Finally, it hits him and he breaks. 

He wraps his arms around himself in a moment of pure vulnerability, letting the sobs rack his body. He hasn’t cried this hard in literal months, and he wonders if all those pent up emotions are now finally exiting his body in the form of Niagara Falls coming from his eyes. He hears Tony stand from his chair, but doesn’t dare make eye contact with the man as he wraps his arms around the sobbing boy, cradling the back of his head with one hand and using the other to rub soothing circles into his back. “It’s gonna be okay. I gotcha, squirt.” Mr. Stark soothes, holding him gently as if he’s some fragile artifact. 

They stay like that until Peter is all cried out a few minutes later. He pushes back from the embrace, his arms still wrapped tightly around his own chest in a protective stance, as if he is shielding himself from the harsh judgemental eyes of the world. Even though he knows for a fact that Mr. Stark would never look at him differently for something like this, he can’t help but feel mortified by the display of emotion. 

He lets Tony steer him out of the lab and into the living area of the tower where a couch sits, almost calling his name out. He heaves a sigh of relief when Tony instructs him to lie down before exiting the room. He comes back with what appears to be an old tattered running jacket and Peter slips his lethargic limbs through the sleeves before laying back down, grateful for the reprieve from his current problems.

“Sleep it off, kiddo. We don’t have to talk about this right now, just get some rest.” Mr. Stark explains before tossing him one of the throw blankets resting on a chair. As Peter covers himself with the soft garment and Tony makes his way into the kitchen, he lets his mind wander and shuts his eyes in order to block out the natural lighting streaming in from the panorama windows. One of Tony’s earlier statements echoes in his mind:

_ “Believe it or not, I do research this stuff” _

He could barely wrap his head around that fact. Tony Stark cared about his problems, so much so that he literally took time out of his day to research them. It was insane how differently he viewed the man after this evening, but he was pretty sure that Mr. Stark had some rapidly changing opinions about him as well. 

As consciousness begins to slip away from him, Peter turns over and allows himself to fall into a deep sleep, knowing that Mr. Stark would be there to wake him up when it was time to return home. Despite the fact that he knows he has a long lecture coming from both May and Mr. Stark, he finally feels at peace because he knows one bit of information that many others will never come to acquire:

Tony Stark cares.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is partially based off of true events. I once missed my T shot and I was really irrational and sort of tired for the days that followed  
> The next two chapters will be about Peter's run-in with Daredevil and Tony offering to pay for Peter's T shots  
> Comment requests if you would like to see something different


	4. Chapter 4

He realizes that he might be different from the other kids his age, but reality doesn’t fully sink in until he’s about eleven years old.

Although his entire young life has consisted of odd stares from both adults and fellow children, Peter takes these at face value. He is convinced that perhaps they shoot him glances in the aisles of supermarkets and in classrooms because of his gawky demeanor or his scrawny figure and scraped knees. It’s not until one day when he’s out with Ben does he finally reach the conclusion that people stare at him because they are confused. 

He’s sitting in one of the leather couches situated in front of the row of mirrors in the barber shop that Ben tends to frequent. Ben has dragged him here under the pretense that they were going to Goodwill to search for spare parts for the “robot” they’re working on. In actuality, Peter handles the research end while Ben handles the soldering iron and allows Peter to watch with a pair of his old lab goggles strapped on. It’s been their miniature project since the summer and Peter jumps at any chance to work alongside his dexterous Uncle, admiring his skill and ability to focus on one part for hours on end.

He sighs, loathing the way that his legs literally stick to the leather couch in the late summer heat. He drums his fingers on one of the arms and avoids Ben’s knowing smirk. At a restless eleven years old, he  _ hates _ being forced out on boring errands with his Uncle, like watching him get his hair trimmed by some 100-year-old artifact with a razor. Okay, Mr. Diao was probably only around the age of fifty, but he looks old enough to be Peter’s grandfather, so he rounds up. Besides, he’s bored and antsy and just wants to leave. 

Just as he’s about to passively remind his Uncle that May wanted them home before lunch, the gruff voice of Mr. Diao grabs his attention.

“What grade are you in, young man?” he questions and Peter’s eyes snap up in surprise. Did he- no way- did he really just call Peter  _ young man _ ?

That’s awesome!

Peter figures that any other kid his age would be offended at the generalization, but he’s actually quite flattered in a way. He knows that since cutting his long brown hair off four months prior, he’s received some assuming looks from those around him, but he never expected that anybody would actually act on impulse and refer to him as a  _ boy _ . No, not a boy, a young man. He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he meets Ben’s slightly amused face.

“I’m in sixth.” Peter practically squeaks, hoping that he doesn’t sound too feminine for the ears of the aging Mr. Diao. While he knows that the comment most likely arose from the fact that Peter is dressed in his typical “tomboy” outfit that day and Mr. Diao doesn’t have the sharpest eye, he still takes it as a compliment on his masculine attire. He’s never taken the time to sit down and actually question why he dresses this way, but now he’s pretty sure why: being seen as a dude is kinda cool in a way. It’s like an elaborate Halloween costume, except that everyday is Halloween.

“Sixth?” Mr. Diao repeats and Peter nods, unable to keep his beaming smile off of his face. He can’t pin the exact emotion down, but he’s pretty elated about the whole endeavor. He has no clue as to why he’s so giddy. 

“Yep,” Ben cuts in, causing Peter’s heart to sink. Some part of him hopes that Ben will continue the charade and call him a boy as well, but he knows his Uncle and that would never occur to him. He was the most honest person Peter had met in his entire life. “ _ She’s _ an academic all-star. Straight A’s in every subject.” Ben brags and Peter returns to staring at the tiled floor. So much for that, he sighs, kicking at the brown and black linoleum. 

Their chatter continues on for a few more minutes over the noise of the electric razor and Peter absentmindedly plays with the hem of his faded NASA shirt. It’s only a moment later when he hears Mr. Diao talking about  _ him _ again.

“How old is your son? He looks a bit young for sixth grade,” the man points out and the grin is back on Peter’s face. He can feel his heart in his throat and he wills that Ben will play along at least this time. He feels as though some huge honor has been bestowed upon him and he bites his inner cheek, attempting to remain calm.

“He’s eleven now,” Ben states before clearing his throat. He wills himself to meet the eyes of his Uncle, a silent thank you resting on the tip of his tongue. He just hopes Ben knows how much this moment means to him, how important it is. After months of confusion and isolation from the other kids in his grade, he’s finally starting to realize just how different he is. This moment on solidifies this and grants him some sort of anchor to hold on to amongst the chaos. 

“Gonna be teaching him how to drive soon?” Mr. Diao comments, removing the towel from around Ben’s neck and allowing him to stand. Ben merely chuckles and Peter allows himself to laugh as well.

“He’s not quite there yet.” Ben points out and Peter can feel his heart thudding in his chest. It’s all just so exhilarating, he almost can’t catch his breath. He regains a calm composure as he watches Ben pay Mr. Diao the fifteen dollars he’s owed for the cut and a curt thank you. Peter wants to thank him as well, but he knows that would only look odd. What Mr. Diao isn’t aware of is that he’s liberated Peter from a world of perpetual self-hatred and confusion. He’s owed a thousand thank-you’s. 

They depart the shop and sink into the heatwave that has encompassed New York City that summer. He feels Ben place a knowing hand on his shoulder and he glances up into the kind eyes of his Uncle.

“C’mon,  _ son _ ,” Ben quips, steering him away from the shop. “We gotta go found that router, don’t we?” 

Peter feels as though he’s walking on air. There is nothing better than this feeling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is a bit short, (and late). I promise I'll have the next one up tomorrow. Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment requests below!


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